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Fair, fond, and virtuous, they our pity move,
Impell'd by duty, agonized by love;
But no Mandane, who in dread has knelt
On the bare boards, has greater terrors felt,
Nor been by warring passions more subdued
Than thou, by this man's groveling wish
pursued;

Doom'd to a parent's judgment, all unjust, Doom'd the chance mercy of the world to trust,

Or to wed grossness and conceal disgust.

-If Ruth was frail, she had a mind too nice
To wed with that which she beheld as vice;
To take a reptile, who, beneath a show
Of peevish zeal, let carnal wishes grow;
Proud and yet mean, forbidding and yet full
Of eager appetites, devout and dull,
Waiting a legal right that he might seize
His own, and his impatient spirit ease,
Who would at once his pride and love indulge,
His temper humour, and his spite divulge.
This the poor victim saw a second time,
Sighing, she said: 'Shall I commit the crime,
And now untempted? Can the form or rite
Make me a wife in my Creator's sight?
Can I the words without a meaning say?
Can I pronounce love, honour, or obey?
And if I cannot, shall I dare to wed,
And go an harlot to a loathed bed?
Never, dear mother! my poor boy and I
Will at the mercy of a parish lie;
Reproved for wants that vices would remove,
Reproach'd for vice that I could never love,
Mix'd with a crew long wedded to disgrace,
A vulgar, forward, equalizing race,-
And am I doom'd to beg a dwelling in that
place?'

Such was her reasoning: many times she weigh'd

The evils all, and was of each afraid;
She loath'd the common board, thevulgar seat,
Where shame, and want, and vice, and sorrow
meet,

Where frailty finds allies, where guilt insures

retreat.

But peace again is fled: the Teacher comes,
And new importance, haughtier air assumes.
No hapless victim of a tyrant's love
More keenly felt, or more resisting strove
Against her fate; she look'd on every side,
But there were none to help her, none to
gnide;-

And he, the man who should have taught
the soul,
Wish'd but the body in his base control.

She left her infant on the Sunday morn, A creature doom'd to shame! in sorrow born; A thing that languish'd, nor arrived at age When the man's thoughts with sin and pain engage

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"But O! what storm was in that mind? what strife,

That could compel her to lay down her life? For she was seen within the sea to wade, By one at distance, when she first had pray'd; Then to a rock within the hither shoal Softly and with a fearful step she stole; Then, when she gain'd it,on the top she stood A moment still- and dropt into the flood! The man cried loudly, but he cried in vain,— She heard not then-she never heard again! She had-pray, Heav'n!—she had that world in sight,

Where frailty mercy finds, and wrong has right;

But, sure, in this her portion such has been, Well had it still remain'd a world unseen!"

Thus far the dame: the passions will dispense
To such a wild and rapid eloquence-
Will to the weakest mind their strength
impart,

She came not home to share our humble meal,
Her father thinking what his child would feel | And give the tongue the language of the heart.

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He lost his wife when they together past Years of calm love, that triumph'd to the last.

He much of nature, not of man, had seen, Yet his remarks were often shrewd and keen; Taught not by books t' approve or to con

demn,

He gain'd but little that he knew from them; He read with reverence and respect the few, Whence he his rules and consolations drew; But men and beasts, and all that lived or moved.

Were books to him; he studied them and loved.

He knew the plants in mountain, wood, or mead ;

He knew the worms that on the foliage feed ; Knew the small tribes that 'scape the careless eye,

The plant's disease that breeds the embryofly;

And the small creatures who on bark or bough Enjoy their changes, changed we know not

how;

But now th' imperfect being scarcely moves, And now takes wing and seeks the sky it

loves.

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So long, were now in class and order shown,
This creature's name should one so sound-
Genus and species-is it meet, said he,
ing be?

'Tis but a fly, though first-born of the springBombylius majus, dost thou call the thing?

Then he began:-When first I reach'd the Majus, indeed! and yet, in fact, 'tis true,

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We all are majors, all are minors too, Except the first and last, th' immensely distant two.

And here again, what call the learned this?
Both Hippobosca and Hirundinis?
Methinks the creature should be proud to find
That he employs the talents of mankind;
And that his sovereign master shrewdly
looks,

Counts all his parts, and puts them in his
Well! go thy way, for I do feel it shame
books.
To stay a being with so proud a name.

Such were his daughters, such my quiet friend,

And pleasant was it thus my days to spend ;
But when Matilda at her home I saw,
Whom I beheld with anxiousness and awe,
The ease and quiet that I found before
At once departed, and return'd no more.
No more their music soothed me as they
play'd,

But soon her words a strong impression made :
The sweet Enthusiast, so I deem'd her, took
My mind, and fix'd it to her speech and look,

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Next to religion friendship was our theme,
Related souls and their refined esteem:
We talk'd of scenes where this is real found,
And love subsists without a dart or wound;
But there intruded thoughts not all serene,
And wishes not so calm would intervene.
Saw not her father?' Yes; but saw no more
Than he had seen without a fear before;
He had subsisted by the church and plough,
And saw no cause for apprehension now.
We, too, could live: he thought not passion
wrong,

But only wonder'd we delay'd so long.
More had he wonder'd had he known esteem
Was all we mention'd, friendship was our
theme.-

Laugh, if you please, I must my tale pursue-
This sacred friendship thus in secret grew
An intellectual love, most tender, chaste,

and true:

L'astain'd, we said, nor knew we how it

chanced

I once had seen him; then familiar, free,
More than became a common guest to be;
And sure, I said, he has a look of pride
And inward joy, a lover satisfied.

Can you not, Brother, on adventures past
A thought, as on a lively prospect, cast?
O days of dear remembrance! days that seem,
When past-nay, even when present, like
a dream-

These white and blessed days, that softly
shine

On few, nor oft on them-have they been thine?

George answer'd: Yes! dear Richard, through the years

Long past, a day so white and mark'd ap

pears:

As in the storm that pours destruction round,
Is here and there a ship in safety found;
So in the storms of life some days appear
More blest and bright for the preceding
fear;

These times of pleasure that in life arise,
Like spots in deserts, that delight, surprise,
And to our wearied senses give the more,
For all the waste behind us and before;
And thou, dear Richard, hast then had thy
share

Of those enchanting times that baffle care?

Yes, I have felt this life-refreshing gale That bears us onward when our spirits fail; That gives those spirits vigour and delightI would describe it, could I do it right. Such days have been—a day of days was one To gain some earthly soil as it advanced; When, rising gaily with the rising sun, But yet my friend, and she alone, could prove I took my way to join a happy few, How much it differ'd from romantic love-Known not to me, but whom Matilda knew, But this and more I pass-No doubt,at length, To whom she went a guest,and message sent, We could perceive the weakness of our Come thou to us, and as a guest I went. strength.

heath

O! days remember'd well! remember'd all! There are two ways to Brandon — by the
The bitter-sweet, the honey and the gall;
Those garden-rambles in the silent night,
Those trees so shady,and that moon so bright;
That thickset alley by the arbour closed,
That woodbine-seat where we at last reposed;
And then the hopes that came and then were

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Above the cliff, or on the sand beneath,
Where the small pebbles, wetted by the wave,
To the new day reflected lustre gave:
At first above the rocks I made my way,
Delighted looking at the spacious bay,
And the large fleet that to the northward
steer'd

Full sail, that glorious in my view appear'd;
For where does man evince his full control
O'er subject matter, where displays the soul
Its mighty energies with more effect
Than when her powers that moving mass
direct?

Than when man guides the ship man's art
has made,

And makes the winds and waters yield him aid?

What can the handsome gipsy have in view
In trifling thus, as she appears to do?
I, who for months have labour'd to succeed,
Have only lived her vanity to feed.

Much as I long'd to see the maid I loved,
Through scenes so glorious I at leisure
moved;
For there are times when we do not obey
The master-passion- when we yet delay-O! you will make me room-'tis very kind,
When absence, soon to end, we yet prolong,
And dally with our wish although so strong.
High were my joys, but they were sober too,
Nor reason spoil'd the pictures fancy drew;
I felt — rare feeling in a world like this-
The sober certainty of waking bliss;
Add too the smaller aids to happy men,
Convenient helps these too were present
then.

But what are spirits? light indeed and gay They are,like winter-flowers, nor last a day; Comes a rude icy wind,—they feel, and fade away.

High beat my heart when to the house I came,
And when the ready servant gave my name;
But when I enter'd that pernicious room,
Gloomy it look'd,and painful was the gloom;
And jealous was the pain, and deep the sigh
Caused by this gloom, and pain,and jealousy:
For there Matilda sat, and her beside
That rival soldier, with a soldier's pride;
With self-approval in his laughing face,
His seem'd the leading spirit of the place:
She was all coldness-yet I thought a look,
But that corrected, tender welcome spoke:
It was as lightning which you think you see,
But doubt, and ask if lightning it could be.
Confused and quick my introduction pass'd,
When I, a stranger and on strangers cast,
Beheld the gallant man as he display'd
Uncheck'd attention to the guilty maid:
O! how it grieved me that she dared t' excite
Those looks in him that show'd so much
delight;

Egregious coxcomb! there--he smiled again,
As if he sought to aggravate my pain:
Still she attends-I must approach-and find,
Or make, a quarrel, to relieve my mind.
In vain I try-politeness as a shield
The angry strokes of my contempt repell'd;
Nor must I violate the social law
That keeps the rash and insolent in awe.
Once I observed, on hearing my replies,
The woman's terror fix'd on me the eyes
That look'd entreaty; but the guideless rage
Of jealous minds no softness can assuage.
But, lo! they rise, and all prepare to take
The promised pleasure on the neighbouring
lake.

Good heaven! they whisper! Is it come to this?
Already!-then may I my doubt dismiss:
Could he so soon a timid girl persuade?
What rapid progress has the coxcomb made!
And yet how cool her looks, and how demure!
The falling snow nor lily's flower so pure:
What can I do? I must the pair attend,
And watch this horrid business to its end.
There, forth they go! He leads her to the
shore-

Nay, I must follow, — I can bear no more:

And meant for him-it tells him he must mind;
Must not be careless:—I can serve to draw
The soldier on, and keep the man in awe.
O! I did think she had a guileless heart,
Without deceit, capriciousness, or art;
And yet a stranger, with a coat of red,
Has, by an hour's attention, turn'd her head.
Ah! how delicious was the morning-drive,
The soul awaken'd, and its hopes alive:
How dull this scene by trifling minds enjoy'd,
The heart in trouble and its hope destroy'd.
Well, now we land—And will he yet support
This part? What favour has he now to court?
Favour! O, no! He means to quit the fair;
How strange! how cruel! Will she not
despair?
Well! take her hand-no further if you please,
I cannot suffer fooleries like these:-
How? Love to Julia!' to his wife?-O! dear
And injured creature, how must I appear,
Thus haughty in my looks, and in my words
severe ?

Her love to Julia, to the school-day friend
To whom those letters she has lately penn'd!
Can she forgive? And now I think again,
The man was neither insolent nor vain ;
Good humour chiefly would a stranger trace,
Were he impartial, in the air or face;
And I so splenetic the whole way long,
And she so patient—it was very wrong.

The boat had landed in a shady scene;
The grove was in its glory, fresh and green;
The showers of late had swell'd the branch
and bough,

And the sun's fervour made them pleasant

now.

Hard by an oak arose in all its pride,
And threw its arms along the water's side;
Its leafy limbs, that on the glassy lake
Stretch far, and all those dancing shadows
make.

And now we walk-now smaller parties seek
Or sun or shade as pleases-Shall I speak?
Shall I forgiveness ask, and then apply
For O! that vile and intercepting cry.
Alas! what mighty ills can trifles make,-
An hat! the idiot's-fallen in the lake!
What serious mischief can such idlers do?
I almost wish the head had fallen too.
No more they leave us, but will hover round,
As if amusement at our cost they found;
Vex'd and unhappy I indeed had been,
Had I not something in my charmer seen
Like discontent, that, though corrected,
dwelt

On that dear face, and told me what she felt. Now must we cross the lake, and as we cross'd

Was my whole soul in sweet emotion lost;

I

Clouds in white volumes roll'd beneath the

moon,

Softening her light that on the waters shone:
This was such bliss! even then it seem'd relief
To veil the gladness in a show of grief:
We sigh'd as we conversed,and said,how deep
This lake on which those broad dark sha-
dows sleep;

There is between us and a watery grave
But a thin plank, and yet our fate we brave.
What if it burst?' Matilda, then my care
Would be for thee: all danger I would dare,
And, should my efforts fail, thy fortune

would I share. The love of life', she said, 'would powerful prove!'

O! not so powerful as the strength of love:
A look of kindness gave the grateful maid,
That had the real effort more than paid.

Ready to aid all beings, I would go
The world around to succour human woe;
Yet am so largely happy, that it seems
There are no woes, and sorrows are but
dreams.

own;

There is a college-joy, to scholars known,
When the first honours are proclaim'd their
There is ambition's joy, when in their race
A man surpassing rivals gains his place;
There is a beauty's joy, amid a crowd
To have that beauty her first fame allow'd;
And there's the conqueror's joy, when,
dubious held

And long the fight, he sees the foe repell'd:
That charm kings, conquerors,、
But what are these, or what are other joys,
beauteous

nymphs and boys,
Or greater yet, if greater yet be found,
To that delight when love's dear hope is

crown'd?

But here we land, and haply now may choose
Companions home-our way, too, we may lose:
In these drear, dark, inosculating lanes,
To the first beating of a lover's heart,
When the loved maid endeavours to impart,
The very native of his doubt complains;
No wonder then that in such lonely ways
Frankly yet faintly, fondly yet in fear,
The kind confession that he holds so dear.
A stranger, heedless of the country, strays; Now in the morn of our return how strange
A stranger,too, whose many thoughts all meet Was this new feeling, this delicious change;
In one design, and none regard his feet.
Is this the path? the cautious fair one cries; That all would yet be lost and disappear.
That sweet delirium, when I gazed in fear,
I answer, Yes! We shall our friends sur-Such was the blessing that I sought for pain,

prise,

She added, sighing-I return the sighs.
Will they not wonder?' O! they would indeed,
Could they the secrets of this bosom read,
These chilling doubts, these trembling hopes

I feel !

The faint, fond hopes I can no more conceal—
I love thee, dear Matilda!-to confess
The fact is dangerous, fatal to suppress.
And now in terror I approach the home
Where I may wretched but not doubtful come,
Where I must be all ecstasy, or all
0! what will you a wretch rejected call ;
Not man, for I shall lose myself, and be
A creature lost to reason, losing thee.
Speak, my Matilda! on the rack of fear
Suspend me not—I would my sentence hear,
Would learn my fate-Good Heaven! and
what portend
These tears?—and fall they for thy wretch-
ed friend?

Or-but I cease; I cannot paint the bliss,
From a confession soft and kind as this;
Nor where we walk'd, nor how our friends
we met,

Or what their wonder - I am wondering yet;
For he who nothing heeds has nothing to
forget.

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In some degree to be myself again;
Cold and diseased, it seem'd my blood to tame;
And when we met a shepherd old and lame,
That soberized the vast and wild delight.
And I was thankful for the moral sight,

BOOK VII.

THE ELDER BROTHER.

"THANKS, my dear Richard; and, I pray thee, deign

To speak the truth-does all this love remain, And all this joy? for views and flights sublime,

Ardent and tender, are subdued by time.
Speakst thou of her to whom thou madest
thy vows,

Of my fair sister, of thy lawful spouse?
Or art thou talking some frail love about,
The rambling fit, before th' abiding gout?”
"Nay, spare me, Brother, an adorer spare:
Love and the gout! thou wouldst not these
compare?"

"Yea, and correctly; teazing ere they come,
They then confine their victim to his home:
In both are previous feints and false attacks,
Both place the grieving patient on their racks;
They both are ours, with all they bring,
for life,

'Tis not in us t' expel or gout or wife;

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